


The Long Way Home

by Zelos



Category: Animorphs - Katherine A. Applegate
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-25 14:32:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2625257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zelos/pseuds/Zelos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brave little soldier boy...come marching home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Long Way Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [a_bittersweet_crow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_bittersweet_crow/gifts).



> For Charley's prompt:
>
>> I'd like to ask something about Arbron (who I love), like how he met and what did HE think of Elfangor. (Or something, anything really, from his point of view about his relationship with Elfangor.)

FWAPP!

SWOOP! FWAPP! FWAPP!

< _No_ , Elfangor!> Badhor bellowed his words so loudly that half the academy probably heard it. <The second strike of the _hald-wurra_ hits at the _hock_ , not the stifle!>

Arbron peered around the corner again at the training session he was not supposed to be observing, though he was hardly the only one eavesdropping. _Arisths_ were technically not supposed to watch each other’s training sessions as it promoted anxiety and unnecessary mistakes from the student under scrutiny. All of them watched anyway.

Besides, it was fun watching Elfangor get humbled. They were weeks away from getting posted onto a Dome ship and Elfangor still couldn’t get a ceremonial move right. Honestly, _hald-wurra_ was for exhibition fighters, not warriors—who could afford to waste time with three blows that didn’t even kill anyone in the midst of a proper battle? And for all the ego Elfangor had about being a true warrior, he still couldn’t master this very simple exhibition move.

Arbron didn’t like Elfangor very much. Elfangor was presumptuous, rigid, and far too self-important. As if carefully following every rule and kissing tail would promote him to prince. Well, kissing the right tail was undoubtedly important, but even the most well-connected Andalite still required _some_ basic skill before he could be promoted to prince.

In all fairness, Elfangor was hardly the only _aristh_ at the academy to behave like such—Arbron could easily think of a dozen or so other _arisths_ who thought that the tides of war would change the instant they stepped onto a Dome ship. Himself? Arbron wanted to win, of course—what _aristh_ didn’t want to save the galaxy? But he was at least aware enough to know that he wouldn’t do so _immediately_.

< _Aristh_ Arbron! > Badhor yelled.

Arbron entered the training hall with an even trot, pretending he didn’t see Elfangor climb stiffly to his hooves. Even when dismissed, Elfangor walked like he was marching to a summons.

Brave little soldier boy marching home.

 

The _arisths_ from Arbron’s academy class were assigned to various ships at the end of their training. Elfangor and he joined the _StarSword_ together as the only two _arisths_ on board. Their day-to-day didn’t change very much, except that old Sofor was even more demanding an instructor than Badhor had been.

Despite himself, Arbron still spent a lot of time with Elfangor by virtue of the fact that they were the only two _arisths_. He didn’t want to, of course. Elfangor was still an annoying, too-serious tail-kisser.

All right, he was also a pretty good pilot. Arbron had been annoyed that Elfangor had taken the helm of their Model Fourteen fighter with his _four-days_ of seniority, but in retrospect, Arbron wasn’t sure he could’ve timed the Maximum Burn as well as Elfangor did. And Arbron had shot down the Skirt Na when Prince Breeyar’s fighter did not, so it wasn’t like Elfangor took all the glory.

And with Prince Breeyar’s praise still ringing in his head, Arbron’s report was a little more generous in describing Elfangor’s contributions—besides, even Elfangor seemed less annoying when compared to the odd humans now aboard the _StarSword_.

Gawadir, the warrior debriefing him, wasn’t very impressed. < _Aristh_ Arbron, a debriefing is not a play-by-play.>

Right. <Sorry, sir.> Arbron took a deep breath and tightened his narrative, editing out all the extraneous “and then I took aim at…” from his speech. <Under Prince Breeyar’s instructions, _aristh_ Elfangor and I captured the Skirt Na fighter and the two aliens they had abducted. Elfangor is situating them in a holding room now. >

Gawadir harrumphed. <Did you download their onboard computer?>

<Yes sir.> Arbron produced the data disk, holding it out for Gawadir to take—

< _Aristh_ Arbron to the bridge. >

Arbron froze and nearly dropped the disk. Twice in one day?! He was either dreaming or really, really in trouble. But he was just an _aristh_ ; what could the captain possibly want him to do a _second_ time that he couldn’t send full warriors for?

His mind spun quickly. Elfangor had been with him for the first task, so it stood to reason that Eflangor would accompany him for the second—assuming there _was_ a task and Captain Feyorn didn’t want to just throw him out of an airlock for some reason.

Somehow, the thought of Elfangor with him was a little comforting—at least there’d be two of them, it’d be twice as hard to screw up. Well, Elfangor could screw up fine just on his own, but Arbron could make up for that, and with two of them it was less likely for some silly mistake to happen because one of them forgot—

Gawadir tapped Arbron lightly on the flank with his tail, breaking Arbron out of his reverie. <What are you waiting for? Go!>

Arbron turned and bolted.

 

They would be heroes.

At least, that was the narrative Arbron told himself as War-prince Alloran took them towards the Taxxon homeworld. A place of nightmares, if the tales were even halfway true. The prince stared ahead with ferocious intensity, a far cry from his previous brooding silence. But he was a seasoned warrior; he showed no fear.

Arbron was suddenly very glad that Elfangor was here with him. Elfangor was a pain in the hindquarters (though perhaps not as much as the two aliens), but at least there was another _aristh_ with him. Another _aristh_ who, if Elfangor’s face had been any indication, was as terrified of this mission as he was. Even Alloran’s praise at Arbron’s shooting couldn’t quell the sick feeling making his legs wobble.

And that was all _before_ they boarded a Yeerk vessel and faced down a bunch of Hork-Bajir.

<I’m thinking maybe we—> _I_ <—should’ve paid more attention to old Sofor,> Arbron muttered. Aloud. He’d meant for that to be only to himself; he didn’t want the others to know how terrified he was. Too late for that.

Elfangor didn’t answer. He struck!

FWAPP! Arbron struck. Missed!

“HeeeeROOOOOOW!” Arbron’s Hork-Bajir slashed!

<Aaaaaaah!> Arbron jerked back, arm bleeding freely.

FWAPP! Hit!

His Hork-Bajir bellowed again and sideswiped him. Arbron fell, slashing a bright line across the Hork-Bajir’s face as he went.

FWAPP! Alloran. Elfangor. Both busy with their own battles.

<Oh, no, nooooo—> His Hork-Bajir advanced on him, blood gleaming on his blades.

FWAPP! Elfangor stepped in, blocking Arbron’s Hork-Bajir. The Hork-Bajir was suddenly missing one hand. FWAPP! FWAPP! FWAPP!

Arbron’s eyes were unfocusing. It was all becoming a blur, the snapping, whistling tails of Elfangor and Alloran and the bellowing screams of the Hork-Bajir…

 

Well, at least he hadn’t been the only one shaken by the ordeal. Even Elfangor, who fought like some harbinger of death from the stories, had broken down.

Arbron was suddenly envious of Elfangor. Not because of his fighting prowess, but because he has that alien, the human Loren. Embarrassing as weakness was, any comfort was better than none. And at least Elfangor had someone to offer him that.

And, all right, he was a little envious of Elfangor’s tail-fighting too. Despite all his jibes to Elfangor, Arbron had been the only one incapable of holding his own in battle. Elfangor had not commented on that, nor had Alloran. But they must be thinking it. Surely. Arbron would if he were in their place.

<I guess you absorbed more from old Sofor than you thought, huh?> He didn’t sound anywhere near as nonchalant as he had meant to.

Elfangor didn’t appreciate the sentiment, not even the _faster-than-light tail action_ he babbled out.

Arbron shut up.

 

<It would be murder!> Elfangor protested, and thus declared open insubordination against War-prince Alloran. Arbron schooled his face to blankness when Elfangor looked at him for support.

Arbron wasn’t proud about that, but he…he was _afraid_ of Alloran. The brooding war-prince that barely acknowledged anyone aboard the _StarSword_ , the warrior that showed sympathy to himself and Elfangor after the battle with the Hork-Bajir Controllers…all that was completely gone, replaced by a brutal, ruthless…not _madman_ , that would be less scary. No, Alloran was terrifying in his _deliberation_ ; there was no question that the ruthless bloodlust was all him, not because of any illness or inability to cope.

Was this how war-princes were? Or was it just Alloran?

Elfangor was disobeying a war-prince. It was career suicide. It was _suicide_ , period. The brave, stupid _fool_ —didn’t he know that Alloran could execute him on the spot?!

Arbron stared at Elfangor as Elfangor began to morph. He wanted…he wanted to tell Elfangor he was right. That whatever Alloran said, there were principles to war, lines that no Andalite should cross. But he couldn’t make himself say the words. And besides, he knew all too well what would be the result: Elfangor, the hothead, would immediately announce Arbron’s (private) support; Alloran would likely tail-whip them both and possibly execute them on the spot for insubordination.

Arbron said nothing. But he shuffled closer to Elfangor’s disgusting Taxxon form as he began his own morph. As he morphed, he watched War-prince Alloran with a dimming stalk-eye.

In that moment, Alloran seemed viler than the Taxxons they were morphing.

 

Minutes from cinders with three Bug fighters behind him, on the tail end of an argument with no point because _Arbron was right_ , Elfangor actually said it: <Now who’s playing hero?>

In that brief moment, Arbron _hated_ Elfangor. Hated him so badly that Arbron could _eat_ him. Because Elfangor was right—Arbron was _done_ playing hero, he didn’t care if he lived or died. Death was better than living in this disgusting body. And experience had told them that Elfangor may be the better pilot, but Arbron was a far better shot. Elfangor could not make the shot if Arbron didn’t.

What did he care if he lived or died? If Elfangor lived or died with him?

The Time Matrix stopped him—the damnable Time Matrix, still strapped to their stolen ship. Maybe Elfangor’s seriousness had rubbed off on him. But there were three Andalites who knew about the Time Matrix, and two of them was in this spinning, overheating wreck of a Skirt Na ship. Alloran may be dead, or taken. If the Yeerks got the Time Matrix…

<I can still make this shot.>

He made the shot. Not dead. Still alive in this disgusting body. Still a Taxxon.

Still not dead. Elfangor refused to kill him, to let him kill himself on Elfangor’s tail. Ellimist damn him, Elfangor’s Dracon shot had _missed_.

And then Arbron was spiralling in mid-air, a wounded Taxxon crash-landing onto the planet’s surface.

He was sorely disappointed to have survived.

 

 

Arbron thought he would die when the Taxxons found him. He wanted to die, needed to, but—not like _this_. Not _eaten alive_. He wanted a clean, quick death by Shredder or Andalite tail. He has earned that much, hasn't he?

Did the dying get to choose how they died? Was that too much of a luxury?

He tried to scramble away on his broken legs; when that failed, he tried to fight. Not that he could, given that he couldn’t so much as raise his front body off the ground.

The approaching Taxxons stared at him, jelly eyes quivering. He could feel their hunger—he _shared_ their hunger, even. Bloody tails of Crangar, Arbron would’ve tried to eat _himself_ long ago if he could’ve bent his lamprey mouth to his severed legs.

 _Ellimist damn you, Elfangor…_ And of course, Elfangor was nowhere nearby. Probably also thrown from the ship and injured. Wherever he was, he was too far to save him.

<S-stay back! I’m an Andalite!> No, no he was not. <There—there’s Skirt! Two of them, cocoons, nearby, take them not me—> Arbron was babbling now, screaming helplessly, uselessly. As if two Skirt cocoons could assuage the Taxxons’ endless hunger. He was one of them now, he would _know_.

Two Taxxons went for the Skirt cocoons, which’d fallen to ground a short ways away. Two more Taxxons advanced on Arbron’s helpless, sagging body. They lowered their lamprey mouths…

<ANDALITE?>

The Taxxons froze. Arbron froze. The psychic voice seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once, like a spark inside his bloated head. Someone…something…had heard his scream just now.

<BRING THE ANDALITE.>

A minute ago, Arbron wouldn’t have believed _anything_ could overcome a Taxxon’s hunger, much less a telepathic voice. There was nothing there to physically stop the Taxxons from feeding on him if they desired.

But the voice countermanded even Taxxons’ base instincts—at least, _these_ Taxxons’ base instincts. They pushed and dragged Arbron’s useless body across the landscape until the ground simply opened up into a yawning hole, glowing a dim, pulsating dark red.

The Taxxons escorted him down the tunnel, two ahead and two behind.

<ANDALITE,> the living mountain commanded when they arrived.

And as Arbron stared back with a Taxxon’s jelly eyes, eyes in the same shade of red as the pulsating Living Hive, he realized…he was home.

 

<Don’t pity me, Elfangor. I am glad I didn’t die,> he told Elfangor later. That was only… _partly_ a lie. He would still much rather die a free Andalite, but he well-knew that there was no saving a _nothlit_. Elfangor may not have paid enough attention in classes, but he did.

Elfangor was staring at him with horror and pity, despite Arbron’s words. Maybe it was unfair to expect otherwise.

<Any life is better than none.> He said it calmly, but he was still convincing himself, too. <And no matter how awful things seem, there is always meaning and purpose to be found.>

Arbron would rather live and die an Andalite. Failing that…well, he wasn’t lying, not quite. He has a rebellion to lead, a species—however disgusting, it was _his species_ now—to save. And he was the only one able to do so. Taxxons needed a voice to lead them, to help them overcome their base instincts, and the Hive couldn’t provide that guidance. He, an Andalite—a Taxxon—could.

<But you can’t win,> Elfangor protested.

<Aren’t lost causes sometimes the best causes, Elfangor?>

He would not be a hero. Not an Andalite hero, at least. But maybe a Taxxon hero.

Elfangor had been the one wanting to be a hero. Arbron had been the cynic. When had their roles changed?

He forced a ghost of his old humour into his rueful laugh. <We’ll be heroes, after all.>

 

<You go, Elfangor,> and this time there was no sarcasm, only rueful admiration and bitter longing. Elfangor was already a great pilot and fighter. He would be a hero.

And Arbron?

Before, animosity aside, he’d still needed Elfangor as a stabilizing presence. Did Elfangor need him? Would he be okay aboard the _Jahar_ , with only Alloran and the aliens for company? Could Arbron go it alone, a lone Andalite, with only the Hive and its Taxxons as company?

 _Don’t let Alloran do it_ , he wanted to add—but didn’t. _He can’t…he_ can’t _…_

<Go save the galaxy.>

 

Twenty-four years after he left the _StarSword_ with Elfangor and Alloran, _aristh_ Arbron returned home in a lifeless body that had become his own, wrapped in soft cloth and declared full posthumous honours. Prince Arbron received a quiet funeral worthy of Elfangor himself, had Elfangor had a body to bury.

 

_Brave little soldier boy…come marching home._

**Author's Note:**

> Despite how much I wax poetic about Alloran, I adore all three Andalites from the Andalite Chronicles and frankly, of the three, I admire Arbron the most. Elfangor had the Ellimist pull strings for him to become the hero he was; Arbron had no such help but died a hero to both his peoples.
> 
> I thought about writing this in another setting, but Arbron and Elfangor's relationship changed significantly throughout the Andalite Chronicles and I figured just writing a scene where they met wouldn't do their relationship justice. So I elected to retell parts of Andalite Chronicles...but retelling all of it seemed overkill, so hopefully the parts I cut out don't detract too much from the overall.


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